Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  Bennie tried to scream. Blood sputtered from her mouth, falling back on her face like a warm spring shower.

  Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t

  And then the world went dark.

  37

  But it wasn’t dark, in the dream. In the dream it was light and sunny. Not the rumored white light of heaven, nor the sunniness of a clear sky, but the incandescent amber glow of a small lamp bought long ago at Woolworth’s and set on a bedside table. Its paper shade had yellowed, its tiny flowers faded to the thinness of a butterfly’s wing, their colors impossible to discern. The shade rested askew on its base of cheap yellow glass, shaped like an oversized tulip bulb, fluted at the top but too coarse to be pretty. A thick brown wire that ran from the back of the base, still bearing its round “UL Approved!” tag, stamped in authoritative black ink onto soft, thick paper.

  Bennie remembered the lamp, recognized the lamp, it was one that had sat on her mother’s nightstand, atop a cotton doily crocheted by hand. By her mother’s hand, from when she had been well. A time Bennie could never recall in her waking moments, but which came back to her in the dream with a clarity remarkable in its detail.

  The lamp rested always next to an empty perfume bottle of lead crystal, not Waterford but a quality her mother could have afforded so long ago, when she was well enough to place it, even empty, on her nightstand, in a storybook understanding of the way rich ladies lived. It was a naive fantasy her mother had, of privileged women who owned lovely items like French perfume bottles and other luxurious things, strands of lustrous pearls and gold bangles and long-handled brushes of sterling silver, engraved with monograms in incomprehensible swirls. It was Hollywood’s version of wealthy women that stayed with her mother, and she would envision these lovely women who sat at vanities before bedtime, brushing their long hair until it shone—one hundred strokes, she always said, and no cheating.

  And in the dream Bennie’s mother became that woman at the movie vanity, her round, dark eyes serene, her lips full with dark lipstick, and she was brushing her long wavy hair in the mirror, letting her curls bounce back shiny with each stroke of the gleaming brush, a great lady of a great house, surrounded by beautiful bottles of real crystal, full of heavy, fragrant perfumes from Paris, their amber glowing like liquid gold in the lamplight and somehow shooting light like sunbeams, suffusing the place with the warm golden orange of a late afternoon in summer.

  In the golden light Bennie went up to her mother, her shining mother, now seated at her vanity of light, and stood behind her for a minute, enjoying the vision she’d never had, of her mother happy and whole and finally getting everything she wanted, becoming at last the woman she always wished to be. And in the next moment her mother’s dream became Bennie’s own, for her mother turned glowing from the mirror, set down the precious shiny hairbrush, and smiled at Bennie with the sweetest of smiles.

  “Benedetta,” she said, her voice soft and familiar.

  And she raised her loving arms to embrace her daughter in the light.

  38

  When Bennie opened her eyes, everything around her was white. White walls, white bed, white cotton covers. It was either a hospital room or a cloud with a three-thousand-dollar-a-day bill. She had an ache in her chest that seemed to encompass her entire upper body, a profoundly deep pain kept only reluctantly at bay by something more powerful than Tylenol, and infinitely more pleasant. Bennie felt surprisingly happy, but maybe that was the being-alive part.

  “Welcome back, sleepyhead,” said a man’s voice. It was David, and he was moving from a chair in the corner of the dim room to one closer to her bed, then rolling away a tray table with a brown Formica top. Bennie caught his smile before her eyes closed again. She swallowed with difficulty, her throat so parched it hurt. She opened her eyes to find some water, but David was already raising a Styrofoam cup.

  “Thirsty?” he asked, and she smiled. Or at least it felt like a sort of smile.

  “You’re good,” she said, her voice so hoarse it was more like a whisper.

  “Wait a minute.” He pressed something on the side of the bed to raise the top half slowly. “High enough?”

  “No. More morphine.”

  David smiled. “Let me hold the cup,” he said, but Bennie was already reaching for it herself. A bolt of pain shot through her chest, and IV tubes she hadn’t noticed tethered her arms to the bed.

  Okay, so much for the independent-woman part.

  “Please, let me do it.” David looped his right arm around her back, cradling her while he brought the cup to her lips so she could take a small sip of lukewarm water. Then he eased her back onto the pillows.

  “That was good for me, was it good for you?” Bennie rasped, and he laughed.

  “Congratulations, by the way. You’re not critical anymore.”

  “I’m always critical,” Bennie said, testing out her new throat. It still hurt like hell, but at least now it was wet.

  “The associates just left. Too bad you missed them.” David set the cup of water on the rolling cart, eased onto the orange plastic chair beside the bed, and hung a forearm over the molded bedrail. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” Bennie swallowed. She sensed he was avoiding the obvious. “How are Marshall and the baby?”

  “Marshall is fine.” David paused. “And the baby, well, the baby might not make it. We’ll know later today. Its blood and oxygen supply were compromised when the placenta separated.”

  No. Bennie closed her eyes. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

  “Girl. Named Gabrielle.”

  Gabrielle. Bennie felt her eyes well up, and David squeezed her hand.

  “As for you, you took a shot in your lung, but it missed your spine, which is very good news, and your pulmonary artery, which is more very good news. You had a lot of bleeding, but they didn’t have to transfuse you.” David gave her hand another squeeze. His voice sounded calm and even. “You’ve been awake a couple of times, which the doctor says is normal, with the drugs they’re giving you and the trauma your body went through.”

  Bennie nodded. She’d been lucky. She prayed to God the baby would be. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marshall. What she had gone through. What she might yet have to go through. “Is Jim with Marshall?”

  “Yes. You need anything? More water, maybe?”

  “No, thanks.” Bennie opened her eyes and blinked the wetness away. “What about Alice and Georges? Catch me up.”

  “Alice is the one who ran for the ER people when you got hit. She probably saved your life.”

  Well, how do you like that? Returning the favor.

  “Nobody’s seen her since, though, and Georges is fine, except for a shoulder injury, and he’s already been charged with his brother’s murder. What happened between you three?” David leaned closer, but Bennie waved him back.

  “I’ll tell you if you don’t smell my breath.”

  “Your breath is better than Bear’s.”

  “There’s a plus.” Bennie smiled. She must look terrible. She didn’t know the last time she had washed her hair. She didn’t know what day it was. She wished for mascara, which she’d never worn in her life. “I bet I look hot in this gown.”

  “Bennie, can I tell you something, quite honestly?” David leaned over, smoothed back a strand of her hair, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I think you are beautiful, even now.”

  Bennie didn’t know what to say, so she closed her eyes and let the sensation wash over her. It was about as sexy as a hospital room gets, and she was filled with a warm, strong rush that was better than morphine. Okay, maybe not better than morphine, but really really good.

  “And Bear says hi. I’m staying at your house, if that’s okay. Taking care of him and making sure Alice doesn’t come back.”

  Bennie nodded. It felt good, David staying in her place. He was in her bed, even if she wasn’t. Huh?

  “So what happened? Georges isn’t saying, and Alice can’t be foun
d. She told the cops that he confessed when he came upon you and her together. She said that when he tried to shoot her, you stepped in and saved her. Is that true?”

  “Partly.” Bennie smiled. Except for that attempted-murder part. “How did she explain what she was doing there with a gun?”

  “She didn’t have to. She said it was yours. It was registered to you.”

  “Ha!” Bennie blinked. “She must have bought it using my name and ID. Perfect.”

  “So what was she doing there with a gun?” David’s forehead knitted with concern. “Wasn’t she trying to kill you? And if she was, why would you save her?”

  Bennie shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him why. She hadn’t realized it herself until this minute anyway. Instead, she told him what had happened with Alice.

  “You must have been terrified.”

  “Nah.” Scared shitless is more like it.

  “She should be charged. She tried to kill you.”

  Bennie shook her head. “They won’t find her. She’s outta here. That’s her MO.”

  “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when the shit hit the fan.” David’s tone was heavy with regret. “I called your cell when I saw you hadn’t been brought to Penn, but there was no answer. I couldn’t get here in time.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes it is. It happened on my watch. You were on my watch.”

  “David, no.”

  He rubbed her hand. “Let it go, don’t talk. Just rest. I’m here,” he said, and Bennie could hear the sadness lingering in his tone. A memory of a headline floated into her brain, from the newspaper clipping Sam had given her. The one about the cadet who had died. What had it said?

  “So if something goes wrong on your watch, it’s your fault?”

  “Sure,” David answered, without hesitation.

  “Why?”

  “I’m the captain, the head coach, the commander. I’m responsible for what goes wrong.”

  Bennie nodded. She used to think that way too. Until now. “Can I have some more water?”

  “Of course,” he said, and they went through their water drill again, leaving Bennie with a scratchy but moistened throat, which was all she needed.

  No time like the present. “I read that about a cadet who died during SEAL training. What happened?” Bennie asked, then closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see his face. He’d be too proud, so she saved face for him. Literally.

  David fell silent for a moment. “You know about that?”

  Bennie waited, eyes closed.

  “I don’t want to talk about that now. This isn’t the time or the place.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re barely conscious.”

  “Hey. Tell me.”

  Bennie heard a deep sigh.

  “Well, Cadet Wellington collapsed and died at one of our exercises, during Hell Week, which is the last week of training before graduation. Cadet Wellington was under my command.”

  “What did he die of?”

  “A heart attack. A defect of the mitral valve, which burst under the strain.”

  “No one knew?”

  “No one knew, not even Wellington. It was congenital. No exam revealed it, preinduction. Only an ECT would have given any sign of it, and they’re not required as part of our physical. His dad was a big cheese at the Pentagon, and they charged me.”

  “I see.” Bennie kept her eyes closed. David’s voice sounded more hoarse than hers, and she’d bet his pain was worse too. “They cleared you of any wrongdoing, right?”

  “Once the whole medical history came to light, yes.”

  Bennie breathed easier. She’d normally never cross-examine with a question she didn’t know the answer to, but for the first time, she’d bet on the military. “The other cadets were fine, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing unusual about the exercise?”

  “Standard for SEALs.”

  Bennie considered it. “But you took some time off anyway, and the Navy let you.”

  “Right.”

  “Because you felt responsible.”

  “I was responsible. I am responsible.”

  Bennie winced, for him. “Do the parents blame you?”

  “No.”

  “Are they suing you, civilly?”

  “No.”

  Bennie paused, her eyes closed. “Maybe that’s why you run around, saving dogs and lawyers.”

  There was silence.

  Bennie opened one eye.

  David’s face had darkened, his lips unmoving. He was looking out the window, but there was nothing to see this high up except the red brick of the building across the street and the slowly setting sun. Bennie took his hand, dragging her IV tubes with her like spaghetti.

  “Am I right, David?”

  He swung his head from the window and fixed Bennie in the saddest gaze she’d ever seen. “So what if you’re right? What’s the difference?”

  “You suffer, and you don’t have to. Life isn’t about pain. It’s about joy. With the occasional threat of litigation.”

  David didn’t smile.

  “Did you like training cadets, before?”

  “Loved it.”

  “If it hadn’t happened, would you still be doing it?”

  “Sure.”

  Bennie knew what she had to say, but she was getting too tired to say it. And part of her didn’t want to. “Then you should go back,” she said anyway.

  “I don’t know.”

  “David.” Bennie collected her thoughts, but they kept coming undone. “All the golden retrievers in the world won’t make up for that boy. It was his heart that killed him. Not you.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  Bennie kept her eyes closed, but this time it really was fatigue. Her thoughts flitted from David to Alice to her mother, and she was wondering why some people took on so much responsibility, way too much, and other people took on so little, way too little, and how both types of people came to be the way they did.

  “Bennie, you should rest now,” David said softly, and she could feel the bed fall slowly back down.

  And her thoughts floated back to the clouds.

  39

  Yeah!” “Hurray!” “Welcome back, Bennie!” came the shouts as Bennie stepped off the elevator into the reception area and a very happy crowd. They were all there: Carrier, DiNunzio, and Murphy in front, then David, Sam, and even Julien, all surging toward her, shouting and calling.

  “Boss! You’re back!” Carrier yelled, and Murphy was right behind her.

  “Bennie, you look awesome!” Murphy squealed. “And no pantyhose! You’re learning, girl!”

  DiNunzio was wet-eyed. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Bennie!” The associate hugged Bennie so hard it should have made her wince, but she felt too good to be back. It had been a month since the shooting, but right now it seemed like years ago.

  “Thanks, DiNunzio,” Bennie said, and patted her little back. “It’s all right now, kiddo.” As soon as DiNunzio released her, David stepped forward, took her in his arms, and gave her a distinctly wonderful kiss.

  “Wow!” Bennie said, when he put her back on her feet. “Was that your tongue?”

  “That was a sneak preview. I don’t go back for another week,” David answered with a laugh, and Julien stepped forward and gave Bennie a light hug.

  “I am so sorry,” Julien said into her ear, and she hugged him back.

  “Forget it, and remember your promise, right? One year?”

  Julien released her. “Six months, you got it.”

  Suddenly Julien was pushed aside by Sam, who held two huge bouquets, one of red roses and another of white sweethearts. “Honey, you’re home! Take these!”

  “Flowers?” Bennie asked, delighted. “From you, the red and the white?”

  “Please.” Sam sniffed. “The red dozen are mine. The sweethearts are from Chief Judge Kolbert.”

  “The chief?” Bennie plucked the fl
orist’s card from the bouquet, opened it, and read it aloud with glee. “’Sorry I misjudged you. Lunch on me. Best, Kate.’ Wow!”

  “And that’s not all, folks!” Sam extracted an envelope from the inside pocket of his custom blazer and handed it to Bennie. “Check this out.”

  “What?” Bennie tucked the flowers into one arm, opened the envelope, and slid out some thick folded papers, then read them with amazement. “You paid off my mortgage? How did you do that?”

  “Ask the femmes,” Sam answered, pointing at the associates.

  Carrier gestured behind her, to a wall of boxes. “Well, those boxes are the new documents and files from St. Amien & Fils, and those next to it are from LensCo, and next to those are files from Tumflex, and the four on top are from FitCo.” She took a breath, and Murphy took over.

  “The boxes against the wall are from Reiss, Inc., those by the coffee table are from CoreMed, and the last two are from MedLens and Cho & Company. They overflowed both conference rooms and all of our offices, so that’s why they’re here.” Murphy grinned. In the background, telephones were ringing and fax machines were zz-zzting. “Bottom line is, they’re all documents from all of our new and improved class-action clients. We got business coming out the wazoo!”

  Bennie blinked. “You guys are working the cases yourselves?”

  “Sure,” Murphy answered. “Just like you taught us. We’ve prepared fifty-five complaints for the class-action plaintiffs, all waiting for your signature. And in two weeks, with your approval, we file a motion to be appointed as lead plaintiff. We’re a shoo-in.”

  “We’re on the move!” Carrier joined in. “And we need Marie back and two more secretaries and at least another investigator until Lou gets well. We need staff! Warm bodies! Help!”

  Mary nodded beside them. “I hired a contract paralegal on Brandolini, but it will take me months to read through all the documents I got from the War Department. And the Circolo raised twenty-five grand in donations, a big hunk from a car dealership in South Philly. So now we’re paying for ourselves and then some!”